Posts Tagged ‘Godzilla’

I have ranted before about this strange drive I have to create things. Being digital has helped a lot, because I can perform magick tricks that were only in my head–or I didn’t think I had the chops to do–and send them out into the world as my little wind-up creatio

n and see where they ended up. Case-in-point: my buddy Miguel runs an awesome blog/podcast/site called The Monster Island Resort Podcast. It was his birthday. Through FB, he asked what his “monsters” were going to do for his b-day. I suggested in a comment a Photoshop-Miguel-into-vintage-movie-posters contest. I really thought the amateur PSers would come out of the woodwork. Apparently, it is not such a common skill

Miguel vs Monster Zero

Miguel vs Monster Zero

; this means I am taking my own proficiency for granted. Far be it from me to suggest a contest without participating; I threw together a pic of Miguel laughing via screencap off of his FB and Google Image searched for some Godzilla movie posters. A few minutes in PS later, and I sent the composite up to Imgur and posted the link back to his FB wall. Lo and behold: I won the contest! He posted it up in his FB album. My artwork is now–briefly–his FB icon. I laugh every time I see it, and I brought a friend some birthday magick.

Because I PRESSED RECORD.

I am still sortof blown away that I have written poetry for something like 25 years (not so much lately), and I have 15 consecutive years of doing music compilations. I am listening to my record collection that Kleptus and Moonbow helped me move into my spare bedroom after 2 years of rotting in my garage, and every song I hear is a message I had left behind for me to discover later on. This funk phenomenon has happened to me many times over the year. It is why I am passionate about creating. “I’m not bragging; I’m confessing” ~King Fantastic

My last entry was So You Think You Can Blog. No matter how many people think that I was somehow commenting on their efforts (or lack thereof), this was nothing more than a message to myself that I will be able to discover again and again when I decide to do the painful process of reviewing shit that I have already created. I made a Nu Decade resolution to myself to blog once a week; I’m supposed to use Sundays–it’s on my personal Google Calendar. My phone blows up with SMS reminders. I’m trying to convince myself that uploading and tagging camping photos to Facebook with witty captions somehow absolves me of blogging that week. Because it is fuckin’ hard.

The Turntables are Alive!

The legendary Studios of Doom be alive and kickin'!

The more you create original content–in whatever media you choose–the more you attract people who feel that it is a breath of fresh air because it is not recycled: it is actually new. This is the act of creation. Press record. Put it out there. What do you really have to lose? How big is your audience, really? If you’re scared that someone is going to dig up some Tweets or a blog you wrote weeks or months or years ago, then you need to reconsider what you stand for. Although there is an unsettling–creepy and threatening, really–trend to use interconnected networks on the Internet to squelch your individual voice, you HAVE one, and it is your human duty to exercise it across ALL media. It’s called integrity, and it leads to serenity in troubling times because it gives you confidence. And if you can capture–or bottle–some of that in a blog post, or a mix CD, or a painting; work on a vehicle or a piece of furniture; a biz plan outline, a stream of photographs, a poem, an essay, a sketch…comprehend that it is creation and you are creating it. The world ALWAYS needs more content!

I am old enough to remember when the drum machine and the synthesizer appeared in the music market. The critics opined that now you don’t have to hire a drummer, or a string quartet, or a horns section. Then digital recording came along; now you didn’t have to rent an entire studio; you could four-track in your folks’ basement. Then came the worst evil of all: the sampler. Just go ahead: rip-off and re-use any break you could load into the computer. Music has not suffered from these advances; it has grown and proliferated and been brought to the masses. Anyone with a mind of their own now can Garage Band themselves into the public’s eye. I have to applaud the effort–or luck–that it takes to leave a message that potent in the past for yourself: you get to live with it. Did you fuck your brand up? Probably not; in fact, I bet you built it–it’s like character.

Going back through old mixes and compilations and poems and stories, I am certain that I am continuing to be sincere and amazing. It is important that I recognize that these creations are love-letters I am leaving myself; it does not matter that sometimes I feel like I have an audience of one. Someday, I might have an audience of one more: some other creature that gains knowledge or strength or spirit from some message that I have left for myself. I certainly gain wisdom, knowledge, and opinions–experience points–from other people’s efforts on- and off-line. That’s icing on the cake.

I’m looking at myself
in the mirror and wondering
who the fuck I am –
wire-rim glasses, two day old growth of beard;
cigarette dangling from my lower lip.
FUCKING POETRY – I’ve been gone so long,
writing to myself, watching
my pen bleed from word to word
across the page,
tasting every letter,
thinking every penstroke: the speed of poetry.
And fuck it if it’s not – it’s mine:
my thoughts, my wisdom, my reminders, and my beliefs.
Soon, the anger manifests in obscenity
and thinking of destruction and Godzilla,
not caring, not feeling anything but
pinpricks in my feet from stepping on rooftop antennae.
Flying like a bird, a beast, a leap
from a cliff, to die, to live, to believe
in myself and my vomit, my eyes,
my power to change myself, thus the world.
My wildfire magick of angels and cataclysm,
comedy, tragedy, hope, lightning flying
from fingertips and pen nibs.
It’s all the beauty of the plumbing behind the sink.

on my driveway in Point Loma,
smoking 3 cigarettes,
I thought it was my cat Ferguson
cracking bird-bones at four in the morning,
but the white and grey patchy creature
was a shiny eyed opossum,
who moved off as fast as it could
back down the sidewalk
after discovering its way back to its lair
in the college leaf-lined drainpipes
was guarded by a flannel-skinned human.
insomnia can be a great thing
when the TV isn’t running any Godzilla movies
or Kung-Fu Theater;
then the silence outside, the cool air
can be heard straining to beckon
with no mouth, no gestures,
just an often overlooked phenomenon.
some will travel huge distances
to find beauty in waterfalls and vistas
that are easy to pretend that no one else has seen,
yet the early morning hours of solitude
and a token nightlighting of vapor lamps on telephone poles
is the hush of the spectacular
that not many appreciate,
right outside their heavy-lidded windows.

Godzilla Cometh

Posted: June 2, 1991 in Poetry
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I talketh.
I open my Mouth.
I speaketh unto You
assembled here tonight.
the Lord cometh
in the Guise of a great Reptile.
Fire he does breath,
and with Blood does he quench his Thirst.
I tremble in humble supplication
unto the Wyrm that does prescribe
the manner that each shall Perish.
Enlightenment shall come as Fire,
Salvation shall approach as hopelessness,
and thou shalt be Judged
by thy Belief and the pain
of your Fiery demise.
He cometh and I speaketh unto you:
He cometh in the Guise of a great Reptile.

Godzilla Part II

Posted: June 20, 1987 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

From out of the depths
The gargantuan comes
Stomping skyscrapers
As big as his thumbs.
He’s going for Tokyo
Acting sublime
For Godzilla alone
It’s his 58th time.
He chews on a pine tree,
Picking his teeth.
Godzilla ate all the army
He says “where’s the beef”?
But wait! It’s Bruce Li!
Hey, what a guy!
No problem for Godzilla;
He swats him like a fly.
Lining up and aiming
He grins and yells “fore”!
Using tail as a nine iron
A hole in one is his score.
Godzilla is just nuclear
This is not a test.
Look out all you surfers
San Diego might be next!

Godzilla

Posted: April 20, 1987 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

Rambo get your bazooka,
Schwarzenegger get your gun.
Someone’s out to get you;
I think your time has come.
He steps over large buildings,
Eats K-Mart for dinner.
All you guys are losers
‘Cause Godzilla is a winner!
Nuclear power plants
Are his favorite dish
He smirks at Charles Bronson
And thinks, rather “YOU wish”.
He breathes out nuclear waste
To him, it’s just like Scope.
Even with King Kong
Godzilla knows how to cope.
So who cares if it’s true
That his brain’s the size of a pea
Or that his IQ really is
The square root of three
I still get out of the way
When Godzilla walks on by
Because I’ll probably get stomped
And thus most likely die.